And the winner is ... Who would you place in the spotlight? Photograph: Getty Images

There's no shortage of British theatrical talent, but who's our best director? I was discussing the question with an actor recently at a party and we both came up with the same answer. But, before revealing the name, maybe it's worth exploring the ramifications of the question.

What do we mean by "best"? And how does one judge a director? For some, the director is increasingly seen as an auteur on continental lines: a role currently fulfilled by Katie Mitchell, Simon McBurney and Emma Rice. For others, the director is judged by the ability to realise a written text: something done to perfection by Max Stafford-Clark, Peter Gill, Ian Rickson and many more. Then again, there are horses for courses: Michael Boyd and Greg Doran for Shakespeare, Trevor Nunn for musicals. There is also an extraordinary tribe of young directors, spearheaded by Rupert Goold, Rufus Norris and Dominic Cooke, who combine daring visual concepts with detailed attention to text. And, if you judge a director by the ability to shape events, you have to mention Jude Kelly and, pre-eminently, Peter Hall, who created the RSC and defined the National Theatre as we know it today. Hall is, in fact, the principal architect of postwar British theatre.

I could go on: a measure of the abundant talent we possess. But the director whom my actor-friend and I both nominated was Howard Davies - which in itself is revealing. Davies is not a household name. He doesn't run a theatre. And he does not, as far as I know, aspire to Hollywood movies. Yet his work is astonishing. And, for proof, I would cite his current production of Gorky's Philistines at the National. It starts with a visual coup in its image of figures trapped inside a rambling Russian mansion. It is stuffed with informative social detail. What is more, every actor seems to bring on stage a character with a life history. If this production had hailed from Russia or Germany, we would be hymning it to the skies and saying it showed the benefit of their extended rehearsal periods.

But Philistines is not a one-off. Davies has proved himself a master of American realism with his productions of O'Neill, Albee and Miller: remember his remarkable All My Sons, which made it look like a great play? It was also Davies who first directed Les Liaisons Dangereuses and brought out all that work's cool, predatory cynicism. And was there ever a better Coward revival than his West End Private Lives, which was drenched in post-coital tristesse? Like all the best directors, Davies has had his bummers: I notice Cyrano de Bergerac is tactfully not mentioned in the current National programme. But, for me, Davies is a model director who achieves a perfect synthesis between text, image and performance.

In lauding Davies, I've no wish to diss other directors. And even the notion of "best" is faintly absurd and subject to constant challenge. In recent weeks, I've seen a brilliantly lucid Three Sisters from Declan Donnellan and a revival of Pinter's Betrayal by Roger Michell that explores every crevice of the work. And I realise, to my shame, I haven't even mentioned Deborah Warner, Marianne Elliott, Josie Rourke, Michael Grandage, Nicholas Hytner, Stephen Daldry, Richard Eyre, John Tiffany or a veteran Shakespearean like John Barton. There is an army of directors out there I revere, and doubtless you too will have your own favourites. All I can say is that when I came out of Philistines I felt I had seen a Russian play realised on stage with a richness Stanislavski himself might have envied.